Published January 1, 2022
by Clara Nencu
(La Salle, Quebec, Canada)
Boulders we climb, with naked chalky hands
And sometimes fall from, wounded, broken men-
Yet, anew our feet begin the climb, tired, to the top.
There are stones we fit in the pit of our palm,
And those whose shadows conquer human frame.
Rocks: the foundations of churches, and medieval walls,
Weapons for warriors or children playing slingshot;
Tomb material, or paper weight, the rock within a bell—
But none is stronger, or more precious
Than the one you build within your soul,
One to accompany you on greatest climbs
And break through barriers, protect, and ground.
Born in Bucharest and bred in the banlieues of Montreal, Clara Nencu is a writer, teacher, and editor with a background in English literature. www.trackchanges.ca
This poem is included in Poetry World #2, published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Previously published in Montreal Poetry Magazine:
Slaves or Survivors
by Roxana Shamsabadi
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